The Lone Ranger, Tonto, and el Zorro
by ValienteCampion
Summary: When John and Tonto travel way out west to California, they come across a strange town controlled by a more than questionable governor. They are sucked into the conflict between Don Pablo and his citizens, along with a mysterious man in black.
1. Chapter 1

The Lone Ranger, Tonto, and el Zorro

_Pound. Pound. Pound. _

_His head was going to explode. He felt like he was on fire. _

_Pound. Pound. Pound. _

_Someone was pulling on his arms, forcing him to move. Where were they going? How had he gotten here? Why wouldn't his eyes open? A pain in his leg reminded him what had happened._

. . .

It had been storming for nearly three days by this time. Tonto was tired of having his feet sink into the mud and having to yank himself back out. He was ready to go back east, to Texas, or simply the desert area they had crossed, and leave the perpetuating deluge of this far west country. But John said they needed to go out here.

When they finally came into a town, there wasn't a bit of clothing they owned that wasn't dripping soaked.

John gave the reins of his horse, Silver, to Tonto so he could secure a room for them. Tonto quickly got the elegant steed and his bully of a mule under the shelter of the hotel stables. He removed the saddles and rummaged through the leather bags to find blankets to put on the beasts. Clothing them, he made sure they both got two handfuls of wheat and corn before snatching up the damp satchels. He returned to the hotel entrance and found John talking to the host.

"Gracias," John said dismissively at the end of their conversation. He gestured to Tonto to hand him his own bag.

"What is 'gracias'?" Tonto asked.

"It's Spanish," John replied, heading for the staircase, "We're in a Latin town. I don't know much of the language, but I reckon we can get by with the few phrases I do understand."

Tonto hummed. He followed up the stairs to their room. There was something off about this town. He couldn't put words to it but he had a strange feeling.

. . .

John was grateful for the nice, closed-in space of the restaurant they were in. He leaned back in the thinly padded chair. The rain thundered against the roof so loudly that it could be heard through the floor above and splashing into the flooded street two floors below.

Tonto was not quite as grateful, or if he was he had a strange way of showing the sentiment. He was more concerned with the suspicious glances they were receiving from every corner of the room. Certainly, the people of this "pueblo" as they called it, were polite enough to only cast those mistrusting stares when John and Tonto weren't looking. He was unnerved until the food arrived. It was that white, creamy stuff John called "gravy" on top of fluffy, white bread. As soon as Tonto took in the first whiff of that wonderful stuff, he forgot all about the staring.

They enjoyed their meal in peace for a grand total of ten minutes before gunshots suddenly interrupted. From the floor above, the crack of discharges and the groan of splintered wood echoed loudly. A loud thudding and crash alerted the bewildered audience to a section of the ceiling in the middle of the room that had collapsed, sending splinters showering down. Amongst the falling debris, a figure dressed in black descended. He landed lightly despite the fall and hastily took note of the room. He was wearing a mask much like John wore on his escapades as the Lone Ranger. His hat had fallen back, held on by a loose cord and his cloak was tattered around the edges with bullet holes. He ran towards the door but was stopped by the Mexican military who appeared on the threshold. The man in black shuffled backward and headed for the windows on the opposite wall. He maneuvered himself like a leaf in the wind so the soldiers could not get an adequate line of fire. The projectiles fired missed him by inches.

The masked man barely took the time to unlatch and open the shutters. Just as he began to vault out of the window, John drew his weapon. In a split second, the bullet found its way into the man's right leg, ripping through the muscles of his thigh. He made no sound as he fell down the two stories into the street.

John huffed and returned his pistol to its holster. He pulled himself out of his reclined posture and stood.

Tonto scampered to the window. He could barely make out the man on the ground. He was unable to stand. The soldiers swarmed him.

Tonto shot a worried expression to John, "John-"

John shook his head, keeping his eyes on the barely visible scene below.

"Who was that man?" He asked the room.

There was a moment of silence before a young waitress answered him in a harsh, accusing tone.

"He is el Zorro," she said, "He was our hero. You've killed him."

. . .

"What are we going to do, kemo sabe?" Tonto asked nervously.

They had returned to their room and had been frustratedly contemplating the consequences of what had happened. John had been informed by the patrons of the restaurant that "el Zorro" was working on behalf of the people of the village. Evidently, Don Pablo, the governor, was an unfair, conceited abuser and the man in black was stealing from him, liberating unjustly detained prisoners, and causing general grief for him and his military support.

And John had shot him.

"I don't know, yet," John responded absently. He was sitting by the window, gazing at the courthouse across the street. He wondered why there was even a courthouse in this pueblo. If what the citizens said was true, this Zorro character didn't stand much of a chance surviving imprisonment.

Tonto sighed dramatically, "We need to save him. Mask up, break him out, what we do in Texas."

John nodded slowly. He considered how they might do that. They didn't know the town well and they didn't know where the soldiers had taken Zorro. Since John had been the one who shot him, he may have some leeway with Don Pablo. The first thing they would need to do is map the town.

"Tonto, I need you to take your mule and map this place. I'm going to see Don Pablo and hopefully get him to let his guard down enough to find out where they're keeping Zorro. Then we're going to need an escape plan."

…

_Pound… Pound… Pound…_

_He felt like he was walking, but he knew there was no way he could be. Someone was carrying him. Whoever it was, they were talking. The words made no sense. _

_Pound… Pound…_

_He knew where he was all of a sudden. He was back home with Bernard. His head had stopped throbbing._

_Why was he there?_

...

Tonto was waiting outside the hotel for John to come back. He had scoped out every street in the pueblo. He knew the fastest way to get from one place to another. Now all he had to do was find out which place they had to start from.

The rain had finally stopped. People were walking around the soggy streets carrying boxes of stuff. They couldn't use the carts because half of them had sunk in the mud. The girl from the restaurant who had addressed John like a vile taste was sweeping the clumped bits of filth off the patios. She looked sad.

Tonto observed her for a moment before finding that the same downtrodden posture was on everyone in the town.

John needed to hurry up.

The sharpshooter was thinking the same thing after the third closed door in the governor's house was finally opened to him. He really didn't appreciate the ridiculous security that Don Pablo had set up. Annoying, thorough, and potentially a giant pain in the ass if he decided to make a daring escape. Fortunately, it was the last door he would have to walk through.

Don Pablo was sitting at a desk with his back turned to the doorway. He was an average sized fellow, though he looked to be carrying more mass underneath his loose clothing than most men. He heard John and the guard escorting him enter but did not turn to address them. He simply waved his hand and the guard retreated outside the study.

John regarded the back of the man's head awkwardly. He was caught between demanding the respect of the other man turning to face him and introducing himself politely like his mother always told him to.

"I suppose you are the one I have to thank for getting that irksome criminal under control?" Don Pablo asked. He still hadn't looked at John.

"Maybe," John said, eyes narrowing with irritation, "If you wouldn't mind, sir, enlightening me on what exactly I've done. It seems the townspeople say one thing and your soldiers another regarding this Zorro character."

Now he turned around. His face was deeply lined but surprisingly unweathered. He chewed his words almost maliciously, "El Zorro is a criminal. He has killed more of my soldiers than any other enemy I have had. He has stolen from me, destroyed my silver mines, derailed trains carrying supplies. He is violent and unreasonable. The only reason I have not been able to catch him until now is that he keeps his identity hidden. That, and he merited the title 'el Zorro'. I am impressed you were able to shoot him."

John rolled his shoulders and tried to stay relaxed, "Speaking of shooting him, what are you planning to have done with him?"

An evil grin spread across the old man's face. John had only imagined smiles as evil before but now he had seen it.

"What befits his crimes. He is a thief, so he will be whipped as one. He is also a murderer, so he will be hanged as one."

"You're going to whip a man and then hang him?"

"Yes, the people must know that this kind of insubordination will not be tolerated in my village," Don Pablo stood, "If you have issue with the law, _stranger, _I suggest you continue on your journey before the dawn."

...

"We have to do something now!" Tonto almost shouted.

John slapped one hand over his partner's mouth and used the other to push him out of sight of the street. They were inside the stables, which were still slogged and made their feet sink a good four inches.

"We will do something," John whispered, "But we can't very well bust a man out of prison if we don't know where the prison is."

"Someone will know where the governor is keeping him," Tonto reasoned, "Maybe one of the villagers will tell us."

"Maybe," John thought for a moment. He shook his head, "What if we get them involved and Don Pablo decides to start shooting them? Talking to the man earlier gave me the impression he cares more about keeping them under control than anything else. I think he's going to make a public spectacle of Zorro to discourage them."

Tonto wrinkled his nose, "Why is he still alive?"

"He has an army at his disposal."

"Why does he have an army? How do evil men always have armies?"

"I don't know," John threw his hands up, "Let's skip the philosophizing for now and concentrate! We can't get anyone in town involved in this, we can't snoop around because Don Pablo will get suspicious. Where can we find Zorro?"

Tonto thought. He snapped his fingers and said, "Oh! I saw gallows behind the courthouse! If he is to be hanged, he will be there."

John grimaced, "I think once he's hanging it's a little late to save him."

"No! Before that! We can stop them before he is killed."

"And how exactly are we going to save him from a yard full soldiers he's in the middle of?"

Tonto paused, "We could...um..."

John shook his head again. He rubbed the back of his neck. If only retrospect could change past actions. Now these poor people were going to have to watch their hero be beaten and killed... wait.

"That yard will be full of people," John thought out loud.

"So? We can't do anything to get them hurt. It's like an army of unarmed children: useless."

"Yeah..." John continued, "Suppose we could use that. We could blend into the crowd. Then I could cover you while you get Zorro and we could escape by blending back into the people."

Tonto frowned, "Crossfire?"

"Are there walls around the courtyard?"

"Yes,"

"Then I'll be up on the walls and the soldiers won't be shooting at the crowd."

"And how will you get down?" Tonto asked with more than a little doubt in his tone. John wasn't the most graceful.

"I'll come up with something, don't worry about it," John started to leave, "I'm going to make sure Don Pablo gets that yard packed full. I need you to find a wagon and spare clothes, a jacket and a hat. We'll put the wagon and the steeds at the start of our escape route. It needs to be inconspicuous enough that the Mexicans don't think anything of it."

"Wagon, clothes, inconspicuous," Tonto repeated, "Escape route. Don't get caught."

...

Securing a wagon was the most difficult part of his tasks. Tonto checked all of the roads and eventually found a quick way to the highway that wouldn't get them stuck in mud. His only issue was that none of the citizens wanted to lend their wagons to a stranger. He had only found two wagons that were the right size, anyway. He was considering finding a way to tie somebody onto the back of his mule.

He was brushing the temperamental creature when a voice behind him nearly stopped his heart.

"Excuse me?" A sweet, little voice practically cooed behind him.

Tonto jumped and whirled around to face the same girl from the restaurant. He stammered, "H-Ho... What?"

"What do you need a wagon for?" she asked bluntly, "You haven't got anything to carry."

"Not yet," Tonto answered, "Have you got a wagon?"

"No, but I can get one," she said, "If you tell me what you're going to be carrying."

Tonto eyed her sideways, "I think you already know."

Her face immediately lifted with a bright smile, "You are going to save him?"

"It's only fair, isn't it?"

The girl jumped up and down, spun around, and started running off, "I will get your wagon!"

...

There was this word John liked to use that meant you were doing something stupid. It started with a "b". What was that word? I would fit perfectly with what they were doing now. Tonto was shifting nervously in the crowd, thinking about what that word was.

Everyone around him looked like they were one ill-timed shout away from storming right through the ranks of soldiers standing on the wooden platform. This was going to go very wrong very quickly.

To be continued


	2. Chapter 2

His head was actually going to explode. There were no misgivings or exaggerations, his head was going to pop right off and what blood was left in his depleted veins was going to spray from the gory remnants. At the very least, this was all Zorro's mind would allow him to consider.

A while must have gone by in the time he thought this, because it suddenly felt later. He could feel his legs once more, though why he couldn't fathom for nothing had changed. He dared to open his throbbing eyes. What he saw was too marred with hazy images and dark blood spots. He was going to die here. His skull would crack or his heart would run its course and fail from competing against the pain.

Sweet, instantaneous relief came when some blessed, God-sent hand clasped the back of his neck and pushed his body upward. His legs were removed from whatever strange suspension they were in and planted firmly on the earth. The pressure behind his eyes and ears subsided. He was able to see more clearly. His senses began to function correctly and he began to register the pain that had been superseded by his being upside down. The bullet wound in his thigh took preeminence and his right leg lost the temporary strength it had. He fell, heavily leaning on he who had rescued him from internal decapitation.

"Whoa now! boy," the man said. He assisted the incapable prisoner to the ground and knelt beside him.

Zorro squinted at the man above him. He had to know this character, but why could he not place him? He wanted to ask questions and try to figure a way out of this situation, but his mouth wouldn't open. Then he realized he was gagged.

_Esto es malo._

"You ain't as big as I thought you'd be," the man, whose face was obscured by a combination of blurry vision and what appeared to be a cloth over his face, said as he prodded Zorro's shoulder with a gloved hand.

Embarrassingly, Zorro hadn't been aware there was a wound there and his pathetic whimper escaped before he could stop it. He glared at the unfocused image hovering over him. He knew the man was not from California and he was, obviously, not Mexican. His accent was foreign, like someone from the east.

The man chuckled, "Y' also ain't much matured, looks like. What are ya, seventeen?"

For some reason, Zorro felt mildly insulted that this stranger thought he was so young. He glared further.

"Name's Cassidy," the man introduced himself, lifting his hat just enough to be polite as he spoke. He then lifted the other's head and began untying the knot that held his mask in place, "Now, who're you?"

The mask came off. Zorro would have tried to stop him, but his arms were tied behind his back, laced from his wrists to his elbows with thick rope. He probably wouldn't have been able to stop Cassidy anyway, considering his own sorry state and that the white man was much larger.

"Well I'll be," Cassidy snickered again, "If you ain't Hell's prettiest angel."

Zorro grimaced. This was a very depraved man standing over him.

Cassidy tugged the cloth out of his captive's mouth and asked, "What's your name, _amigo_?"

Zorro did not answer.

"Alright, then I'll call ya 'Angel'. That's a Mexican name, ain't it?" Cassidy clicked his tongue and looked around the dim room.

Zorro took note of the light source being a lantern near a darker, fuzzy thing he presumed to be a door. The room was very small, and from what he could discern, it was constructed with brick. Brick was what the courthouse was made of. It was also what the Don Pablo _maltido_ had built his fortress of an estate from.

_Esto es muy malo._

"What are you going to do?" Zorro forced himself to speak though his jaw and throat cursed him for it.

Cassidy looked back down at him and smiled, an evil, snake-like grin, "I'm gonna catch me a damn masked man an' his indian. Just like ol' Pablo's caught himself his." he almost playfully rustled Zorro's hair, "Maybe you could'a used a partner, Angel. I dunno anythin' 'bout ya, but I can sympathize with your position."

Zorro suddenly felt a wave of tension take over his frame. He had been ignoring the pain in his body since being let down from the ceiling. Now that pain made itself the focus of his mind. What hurt the most was his back, though he couldn't remember why it was so gravely injured. He did recall the bullet hole in his leg, which began searing like hellfire. He groaned, or maybe it was a whine, he couldn't tell.

"Oh, gettin' yer senses back?" Cassidy began moving around to Zorro's head, "I's gettin' worried them idjits had broken your spine, or somethin'." he bent over and grabbed the torn fabric of the other man's shirt. He gathered enough of it into his hands to yank up to Zorro's shoulders and pull him up.

Zorro made no protest as Cassidy dragged him over to the wall to support him. He grit his teeth and closed his eyes when his back hit the wall. Why did it hurt so badly? It felt as though there weren't any skin on him. He cracked an eye open to survey Cassidy and saw the man's boots straddling an ugly, fresh path of burgundy blood.

Cassidy, seeing the shocked expression that overtook Zorro's previous anguish, winced at the sight. He would ordinarily enjoy toying with a man before killing him, but he had to hate that man; he didn't hate this young Latin. The confusion on Zorro's face made the older man's stomach turn, which was no easy feat. He decided to squat down to both quell his unsettled gut and get into Zorro's intense eyes.

"You dunno what happened, do ya? Don't remember?"

Zorro slowly shook his head, "No."

"You remember how ya got caught?"

"Shot," Zorro nodded to his leg, "Fell out of a window."

"Uh-huh," Cassidy hummed, "You remember the trip here?"

Zorro shook his head again, "Knocked out. I remember _el bastardo muy estùpido _asking me where I put his precious...thing. And that's it. Why am I bleeding from my back?"

Cassidy blinked, very surprised, "Well, he had ya whipped."

"Oh," Zorro nodded. That wasn't alarming. He had figured Don Pablo would have had him killed slowly already. Perhaps this was the process?

"You don't seem too bothered by it."

He got a shrug in response.

"What did you do to him to make him want t' fillet ya?"

"I told him that he is evil. I also told him that in front of everyone in the village. I e'sposed him. I also may have stolen some thin's from him, which made him very wroth."

"Huh," Cassidy smirked, "Man of the people, are ya?"

"No, I am not a part of these people. I cannot ignore injustice."

"Heh... I know someone a lot like you. He sure ain't as pretty or agreeable, though."

Zorro began to feel lightheaded— more than he had been, anyway— and lowered his head, "Who?"

Cassidy's lips curled into a malicious grin, "The same fella that shot you, Angel."

...

Zorro woke to an empty room. It was the same as the one he had fallen asleep in, judging by the familiar brick and the hanging instruments that had suspended him previously. The lantern was gone and the only light came from the edges of the door frame.

He still couldn't get either of his arms loose from the ropes binding them together. The gag was back in his mouth. His mask had been returned to its proper place over the top half of his face. Cassidy was gone. He figured it would be pointless to try anything now. He had lost too much blood, he was hurt too badly to even stand, and there wasn't anywhere for him to go.

Sleeping seemed to be the best idea.

_Pound. Pound. Pound._

The sound of his pulse behind his ears lulled him under.

...

The next thing he would be able to recall was sunlight, bright sunlight that blinded him when a blindfold was removed from his eyes and revealed midday. He was able to discern the sky from the ludicrously brilliant, white buildings just beyond the walls of what he would later learn was the courtyard.

He staggered. Someone was holding him steady, keeping him from moving anywhere they didn't want him to go. He was pulled forward onto his knees, which his leg desperately protested. He heard sounds that made no sense, felt pain and heat from the sun. He was on something made of wood. What was happening?

_Abre tus ojos!_

He cursed his own stupidity and opened his eyes again. He could tell that his mask was still on, and he was kneeling on a trapdoor. There were hundreds of people on the ground below what he assumed was gallows.

He was being held down by two men who must have been twice his size, while a third looped a noose around his neck.

_¿Qu é crees que voy a hacer?_

There were things being thrown at the soldiers on the stage. The people were causing enough ruckus to get a few of the men to jump down and push them back.

A gunshot rang out. Screams followed.

The men that had been holding him down, pushed off of him and drew their pistols. One of them never got the chance to properly remove it from the holster before he was hit by a projectile and his convulsing body threw itself into the dirt. The other two didn't stand fairly either. One was forced from the stage by the first man's demise, and the other was taken unawares by a knife wielded by a crazed-looking indian.

Zorro blinked at the bizarre man above him. The indian man removed the rope from his neck and knelt to lift him up.

Whether it was the exhaustion and blood loss, the shocking sight of an indian man in this pueblo of all places, or the grace of God that he did not have to try to think anymore, Zorro passed out.

...

Tonto had very little trouble 'dispatching' the man beside his target. He liked that word John had taught him, it was so dishonest.

What he did have trouble with was talking to el Zorro. The man was severely wounded, fresh blood still dripping from the remainder of what used to be a shirt and the black, sick looking hole in his leg. His eyes weren't focused enough for Tonto to tell if he could even hear him, much less understand what he was saying.

"Forget this," he muttered when he got the rope around his neck cleared. Tonto maneuvered one arm through the space between Zorro's bound arms and his back, and the other under his uninjured leg. He lifted with more force than he needed and vaulted toward the steps. It was pure luck, though he would claim dexterity, that allowed Tonto to navigate down those stairs without falling or dropping the now entirely unconscious Zorro.

John watched from the corner of his eye as he shot from his perch on the courtyard wall. He trusted his own dumb luck to spare him any unobserved threats to his life while he protected Tonto from any soldiers that had a clue. He hoped he wouldn't need to fire more than ten times.

Tonto dashed into the swarm of jeering villagers. They provided a wall behind which he was able to disguise himself and Zorro with the clothing he had borrowed. He supported Zorro's limp body by holding him from behind. He had his own arms under the other's and held him in the air to walk. He hadn't really been expecting such complicated restraints for a man that was about to be hanged, thus he hadn't the time to cut him loose.

John was nearing a seventh shot and was becoming a bit worried. He had lost sight of Tonto in the crowd, and he didn't see his partner in the wagon on the other side of the wall.


	3. Chapter 3

"Bad, bad, bad, bad, bad!"

Tonto had only one English word come to mind when he crossed the threshold of the courthouse. The citizens had swarmed behind him, making a barrier between him and the soldiers. There was an awful lot of gunfire. The man on his shoulders was much heavier than he looked. Tense didn't quite describe what was happening.

"Goin' to get shot. Someone's goin' to get shot. This isn't good."

Tonto tripped as he neared the wagon in the alleyway outside the yard. He all but face planted in the mud and had to rush getting back up, wiping the muck from his face. He recovered the man he'd dropped and dragged him unceremoniously to the back of the cart.

"Very sorry about this," he muttered and heaved Zorro into the wagon.

Tonto wasn't sure if he had further hurt the man when he fell, but there was an audible groan when he slammed into the wood. Tonto flinched at that. He quickly circled around to the front of the wagon and whipped Silver and the mule into action.

"Hey! Ranger! Wagon's departing!" he called to the man on the wall above.

John glanced down again when he heard Tonto's voice behind him. He was relieved to see that his partner had made it to the wagon. He jumped from his high place and felt a bullet scrape his shoulder as he descended—Just in time.

He landed hard in the back of the cart, barely missing Zorro, and shouted, "GO!"

Tonto had already gotten the cart moving. They were off to a horrendously slow start because of the mud, but the people had blocked all of the soldiers in the courtyard.

Or so they'd thought.

There was a sudden hole and a spray of splinters from the side of the wagon. John whipped his head around to see where the shot had come from. One of the guards had gotten clever and climbed atop the wall like John had. There were others following behind him.

"Damn," John sifted in his pockets for more rounds to reload.

"What's going on, kemo sabe?"

"Nothin' much, partner," John fed the barrel of his pistol as calmly as he could, "Just get us outta here."

Fortunately for them, the soldiers had not improved their aim any. None of their shots came close to killing the trio on the wagon. A few bullets whizzed a bit too close to Tonto's head for his liking, but he was not struck.

The wagon started to pick up speed.

John had to holster his weapon and hold on to the sides to keep from being tossed out. He made sure one arm was keeping Zorro from being shaken too much.

Tonto was having a bit much fun driving the cart on this rocky street. He was grinning ear-to-ear and grinding his teeth together so he wouldn't bite his tongue.

A mob of soldiers had broken through the wall of citizens and were running after them, still shooting and missing by significant inches.

...

Cassidy had been sitting on the porch of the last building on the street. He had figured that ol' Lone Ranger would try something to get "Angel" free. The outlaw had watched the indian mapping out the streets, deciding on an escape route. He was waiting at the end of the trail.

Sure enough, gunfire erupted from the courtyard and not five minutes later, a wagon with the indian driving and the masked man in the back came barreling down the road. The Ranger was facing the horde of Mexicans that were chasing them, completely unaware that Cassidy was even there.

It was just too good to be true.

Cassidy was ready right then and there to take his shot.

He hesitated.

As they passed by, he saw the young man from before and he thought better of his options.

He let them go.

This wasn't "Angel's" business. This was between Cassidy and the Ranger. He'd wait until they had gotten the Latin squared away, when their guard was down, and that was when he'd take his shot.

Cassidy turned on his heel and lept off the porch. He walked over to his horse, counting rounds as he did.

...

An oversight, surely, was why none of the men following them had thought to mount horses and actually catch up. Perhaps they didn't have the horses, or perhaps they couldn't get to them in time. There was even an argument to be had that they didn't even want to pursue the masked man with a white hat who couldn't seem to miss a shot.

Whatever the reason for why Don Pablo's men gave up, they gave up.

Two and a half miles out of the pueblo, John peered at the hazy horizon and saw that no one was behind them.

"Tonto! Stop!" he said.

Tonto reared the steeds and looked back, "WHAT?!" he demanded in panic, "Did he fall out?! Were you shot?!"

John held up his hands, "Tonto!"

Tonto blinked at him for a moment. He examined both men and the state of the wagon. Contrary to the volume of discharge from before, there were only a couple of holes in the wooden frame. Feeling a modicum of relief, Tonto checked over his passengers again. John was working to untie the intricate knots over Zorro's arms. He was favoring his left shoulder a little too much.

"You were shot!" he exclaimed accusingly.

John glanced at his shoulder and saw a spattered patch of red on his sleeve. He shrugged his other shoulder, "It's nothing to worry about right now. We need to get going."

"Hmm," Tonto shook his head and helped his partner get Zorro out of the wagon.

They secured the limp body as best they could on Silver's back. Tonto insisted they wrap a blanket around him in case he started to "go cold."

John then pointed out that they had to pick a destination immediately before they left a five mile radius of Don Pablo's pueblo. They had no medical supplies, no water left over from their trip, no food, and no decent idea about the area they were in. They moved off the road, or what they guessed was a road, into the brush and rock. Watching both ways along the road, ready to spring at a moment's notice, they discussed what the hell the ought to do next.

"Should have thought of this beforehand..." John muttered irritably.

"Shouldn't have shot him," Tonto commented unhelpfully, "Why did you shoot him?"

John shook his head, "Somethin' about a man wearin' a mask and fightin' men with legal authority... I guess it just wasn't me and... hell, he reminded me o' Cassidy, the way he broke through the floor like that, and grinned at the men shootin' at him."

"You shot him because he smiled?"

"No, I didn't shoot him 'cause he smiled! I shot him because he was robbin' someone and runnin' from the law."

Tonto contemplated that. He frowned, "This is the same that you do."

"I know me, though. Cassidy will put a mask on every once in a while."

"Hmm," Tonto nodded. He still didn't fully grasp why John's gut reaction was to shoot first and ask questions later; it was ordinarily asking questions until he had almost no time to shoot.

A small grunt pulled the pair out of their conversation. Zorro had come to again and was working on falling off the back of the horse (not that he could tell).

"Whoa, boy," John put a firm hand on him to keep him from rolling off.

Tonto dismounted his mule and untangled the blanket to let Zorro up. He had not been expecting a boot to hit him in the face. For some reason, he was thinking, "oh, of course," as Zorro kicked him square in the nose. Blinded, he didn't see Zorro sliding off the horse and jumping on top of him. When the tears from his most-likely broken nose cleared, the man in black had maneuvered behind him, stolen his gun, and was using him as a shield against John, who couldn't get a line of fire.

"We're tryin' to help you!" John shouted.

"How can I know that?" Zorro retorted, "You're _el bastardo_ that shot me!"

"I saved you from being hanged," Tonto argued with one hand covering his nose, which had started bleeding.

"_Si, gracias_, but he is still pointing a pistol at me, and he didn't miss the last time."

John grumbled something unintelligible and relaxed his gun arm. He let his barrel point straight up and he raised his other hand, holding the reigns, to show he wasn't reaching for another weapon.

"Holster it," Zorro commanded.

John clenched his jaw, but he complied, "Let go of him. He's done nothin' to you."

Zorro gently released the indian. He kept the pistol, aiming it at the ground.

_Pound. Pound. Pound._

His adrenaline began to wear off as quickly as it had presented. He became very, very tired and everything began to ache. His back was almost worse than before. He closed his eyes, trying to not succumb to the pressure in his head.

He didn't know how, but he somehow got the gun turned around in his hand and offered it back to its owner. He didn't want to accidentally discharge it.

"Is there somewhere we can take you that will be safe?" Tonto was asking him.

Zorro nodded, which was a mistake. He swayed forward and was caught by the indian.

"Where? Tell us where to go."

"Northwest," Zorro mumbled, "De la Vega estate."

"De la Vega?" Tonto repeated, looking to John for help with the foreign tongue.

"Bernardo..." Zorro passed out again.

...

Northwest was a largely barren path. There was sparse vegetation between the pueblo and the northwest direction until it seemed the earth ended. They got to what looked to be the top of a hill and found that there was a vast, steep drop off into a canyon. There were all manner of trees and a stream on that side of the path, though everything leading up to it had been desert.

On the far side of the valley was a house. There was one window lit.

"Do you think anyone is there?" Tonto asked, "The 'Bernardo' person?"

John didn't answer. He was focusing on getting there before Zorro went into shock.

Neither of them were paying attention to the large, black, angry horse that had been following them. It was keeping its distance, barely out of their earshot.

As they approached the house, John started looking for the occupants. He really didn't want to get shot.

...

The Bernardo person, unknown to the trespassers, was lined up to shoot them both. They had circled around to the front door of the house. He had gone around behind them, hidden in the dark shadows of the trees. He stopped behind the well, using the trees and the barn behind himself to camouflage his form. He had his shot gun rested against the side of the well and the barrel was pointed at the tall man in a white hat.

He was initially going to call out, maybe scare them off without having to shoot. However, he saw what looked like a body on the back of the indian's mule.

"Oh, no," he whispered to himself, "Please, Mary, do not let him be killed..."

He watched the pair meander in the yard. They didn't seem to know what they wanted.

Bernardo heaved in a breath and shouted, "Who are you?"

The two jumped. They whipped their heads back and forth, trying to figure out where the voice had come from. The area by the well had the convenient acoustics to echo any sounds so that one couldn't tell where it originated.

"My name's Reed!" the man in the white hat replied, "My partner here's Tonto. We're here with a man called Zorro! We're tryin' to help him!"

Bernardo almost forgot he was holding the shot gun as he ran. He wasn't thinking anything coherent as he dropped the firearm, grabbed onto the man on the back of the mule, and pulled him down.

"_Idiota_!" he muttered.

He checked Zorro over— looking for a pulse, counting wounds, debating whether or not he should kill him for being such a pain. Finding that he was alive, Bernardo took more care to breathe. He looked up to the men that had brought him.

"Where did you find him?"

"Don Pablo was going to hang him," Tonto spoke before John could. He gave his partner a warning look before continuing, "He was beaten before, and shot before that."

Bernardo forced himself to sigh. _Keep breathing_. He lifted Zorro over one of his shoulders, "Regular Tuesday, then..." he muttered to himself. He gestured for the other two in the direction of the barn, "Put them away, I'm going to need your help. Hurry."

They nodded and led their steeds to the barn.


End file.
